I want to watch a Disney movie.
It’s a cloudy day and I can’t decide whether I like that fact or not, because it’s also not hot as blazes outside and it’s just the kind of weather you need to take it down a notch. I took a mental health day from work so I could not drive anywhere and sit around in yoga pants and a t-shirt all day. Yeah, I only had one more day to go until my “weekend,” but I was crabby on Saturday (my Monday) and had reached the point of banging my head on my keyboard by Actual Monday. That was because one of my (six) bosses, who can’t manage his own hair, let alone anything else, kept constantly obsessing in his unfortunately irritating voice and yelling over my head to another co-worker. The one who never stops talking, speaks in super-loud volume using unending malapropisms and very bad words, and, when he does stop talking, starts beat-boxing or singing. This went on for six hours. In an email exchange with a friend who asked how the day was going, I replied, “Everyone is annoying. How are you?” (The great thing about her is that she routinely gets fed up with humanity and declares, “I hate everyone,” so I knew she’d get it.) By Tuesday and complaints from a coworker about something I’d done correctly, I’d about had it. I was openly threatening to throw things at their heads. So really, it was better for everyone’s safety if I didn’t go to work today.
And now I want to watch Mary Poppins.
Generally, this means one thing: I need a soul hug. I need a vacation, too – a week away from long commutes and irritating co-workers and low morale and the daily routine, somewhere pleasant and beachy with alcoholic beverages I drink no matter how much they cost. I haven’t had a vacation in over a year. But a hankering for a Disney film means I need soothing.
Jack, it may come as no surprise, probably figures into this. He left today for the marathon in Iceland with Gwyneth. And while I’m actually not at all consciously upset about it and am in fact rather amused that a blob of earth called Iceland is volcanically active, I’m sure there’s some inner turmoil. We don’t talk much now (Jack and I, not Iceland and I – that place has frankly never returned my calls), and Iceland has become a symbol to me of everything that went downhill with him since January. I hate an entire landmass for emotional reasons.
Not wild about Gwyneth Paltrow, either. But she bugs a lot of people.
Sure, I could eat french fries covered in cheese and bacon. That’s about the only thing I haven’t tried in the last few days, if I think about it. Last night it was uh-may-zingly rich lasagna. Day before was a giant chicken salad sandwich with cheese, held together by delicious full-fat mayo, which stayed with me for so long I felt like I was still digesting it the next morning. Sunday was barbecued babyback ribs and mac & cheese. Damn, I’ve been throwing comfort food down my gullet all week, now that I think about it. And, of course, has that helped? Not really. Only thing it’s done is made me gain three pounds. So today I’m being good and dinner tonight will be shrimp so I can at least feel better about the size of my stomach.
Still debating throwing together a blueberry pie, though. Is that bad?
Good thing Disney hasn’t set any movies in Iceland.